dreamcatchers
by lydiamartins
Summary: MD. There's just something about birthdays that Massie loves. / happy birthday, rachel!


**A/N: Happy 13th Birthday Rachel! This is really bad, and I wrote it like in two hours, and then deleted it completely 'cause it was horrible, but oh, well. Hope you like this, :)**

* * *

There's just _something _about birthdays that Massie loves.

She's five now, and sits all day, hours on end, watching all the Disney movies that her father had brought for her; they're in a bundle, and life is all in jumbles, but Massie's too focused on the happy-ever-after's to notice that. She's always wanted to be a princess. Her parents don't approve of her conquest, which is quite atrocious to their dreams and aspirations of their daughter becoming a respectable businesswoman, or perhaps a lawyer, or doctor.

Just _not _what she wants to be._  
_

Massie turns off the television, and sits obstinatly, as her father goes back to Taiwan the week after, and stares out the window, gloomingly; without those movies, it's quite frightening. It's like there's something missing from her.

[**revenge is a dish best served cold]**

But, then again, what has she ever done wrong? Princesses are perfect; without a single flaw, and there's nothing that Massie Block wants more on earth than to be perfect; to be worth it; yet, sadly enough, she'll never get what she _really_ wants_needs_**has.**

.

.

.

On her first birthday party, in the third grade, she invites all of her classmates, just like a little good girl does, even that really rude one named Ahnna, who always sneers and laughs behind Massie's back. She mutters out the words, "Hope you can make it", and walks away, shoulders bent.

She hears people calling out behind her, _as if we'd ever go to **her **birthday_ party, but ignores them; isn't pain supposed to make her beautiful? She walks home alone that night, pulling on the fraying seams of her polka-dot dress, and undoing the elaborate hair-do, tossing the beautiful red ribbon across the street. At home, Massie sits mindlessly on the computer, and pulls up her Facebook screen.

Nobody's bothered to wish her a happy birthday.

At six o'clock, when the party was supposed to start three hours ago, nobody shows up. The salmon has turned cold long ago, and Massie runs up to her room, and slams the door; needless to say, Kendra is mortified, that her only daughter has no social life. It's the world's biggest calamity, and Kendra is determined to solve it with the use of a makeover and money.

If only life was that easy.

.

.

.

Massie is seventeen now.

Gone are the twin braids and pigtails, replaced by crimped or curled hair, that hangs delicately above her midsection; gone is the ever-so-sweet smile, replaced by a constant smirk on her ruby red lips; there's not a trace of the princess that they're used to be left.

She's popular; she presumes. Massie's the alpha of Octavian Country Day, but for some reason or another, she still doesn't feel as though her friends are actual, like for real. Perhaps, it's just the insecurity problems, but when Claire moves back from England, Massie can't help but feel as though it's kind of nice that her best friend has returned. Isn't popularity everything she wanted?

But, no. She wants more. She wants to be like those other girls from the Alpha Academy with their, skinny collarbones, and sunken-in eyes, and god, no. She just can't be perfect, now can she?

Massie stands alone, basking in the street lamp light, in a suburb thousands of miles away from home; she wishes that she was Dorothy, with her red shoes, and _click! clack! _she would be at home once more. She just wants to be found (is that too much to ask for), but Massie doesn't even know what she's doing with her life. She pulls her phone out of her backpack with trembling hands, and dials numbers; the first one she calls is Massie, who immediately goes to voice message; the second is Cam, but he doesn't pick up either.

Whenever she was alone, her so-called boyfriend, had promised to find her; he said that he would walk a thousand miles, just to see her smile; was that just all a dream? Some sort of fairy-tale that Massie had made up in her head? Wasn't that a song? It's all a confusion now, and everything's getting black, and Massie hears these laughs in the distance, these jeers, and these taunts, and she runs like lightning.

If lightning wore some sort of high heels and tripped over itself.

.

.

.

The sounds of scuffed sneakers being dragged across the hardwood floor, the clicks and clacks of wobbling girls in five-inch high heels, and the loud bring! of a bell couldn't be drowned out by the overall cheers of students, as they stood in the middle of the hallway, screaming their lungs out. Massie scuffs the sides of high heels, ignoring the throbbing pain that comes from wearing high heels without socks (perfect people don't feel pain), but decides to be invincible, ending up half-laughing, half-crying at the end of the day.

Forever's and happy-ever-after's don't exactly exist, however; her and her best friends all went on their own ways. They come back for the class reunion of Briarwood and Octavian; it's a glorious event, and Massie's still dressed-up.

Most people are on the dance floor, singing, acting drunk, or living the life that they never got the chance to live, like it's heaven on earth; she remembers some sort of quote from a fairy-tale. She bumps into a pair of ravishing blue eyes, and she can't help but feel reminded of Prince Charming, until she blinks her eyes, and remembers that fairy-tales don't exist. "Landon?" she breathes.

Moments later, she's dragged off who-know's-where, and locked in a closet. From outside the closet, she can hear Landon's breaking voice, but it's still the same, after all these years (nothing's changed but the names and the faces). "Help!" she tries to scream but nobody's listening.

The clock chimes at twelve.

.

.

.

The first time that Claire Lyons and Cameron Fisher get married -they have several divorces, but end up getting back together-, Massie Block realizes that there's no real reason for her life anymore.

She's already twenty-one years old, but Cameron was her first love, her soulmate, if such a word even existed. For the rest of the day, ignorant remarks are made by Kendra and William, who suddenly decide that it's time for a family outing, to which Massie oh-so-politely refuses. She doesn't want anything; all she wants is Cam, but oh-dear, she can't have everything she wants.

Otherwise, Massie would be perfect.

She paints her fingernails the shade of indigo, already comfortable in her pink ballet flats and baggy sweatshirts, one side of hair perfectly straightened, the other a mess of curls, as _he _comes in through the bathroom window. "I heard you were crying," he tries to say suavely, but ends up falling onto the floor, with an oomph.

Massie stands up, laughing a little, and for a moment, she's not an ice queen anymore; no, she's not. She's five years old, wearing a canary yellow, burnt sienna dress, and still believes in fairy-tales. "Derrick Harrington, is that you?"

But it doesn't really matter; he still remembers her, and that's enough for now.

.

.

.

The candles blow out.


End file.
